The Stories I Share: Last Photo

One evening, I received a call from a special cousin. “The cancer is in my spinal fluid,” she said. “I’ve been given four to eight weeks.”

“Would you like me to come?”

“I would love to see your face one more time.”

There were blessings each day of my journey. However, I especially wanted one—a last photo with Cheryl. When and how should I ask? I didn’t want tears or forced, false cheerfulness.

My last evening, we stopped at Buc-ees for beef jerky. The Texas icon is not quickly described. All that is important is that the mascot is Buc-ee the Beaver, and Cheryl and I thoroughly enjoyed romping through the massive convenience store examining—and sometimes playing with—the merchandise.

Before we left, I asked Cheryl’s husband to snap a photo of me with Buc-ee’s statue. (Such photos are a family tradition.) Cheryl quickly and unexpectedly hopped out of the car and joined me.

I had my photo. A moment of silliness, not sadness. A fitting memory of a woman who loved playing jokes and making people laugh.